


Do doo be-do-do

by dotfic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-30
Updated: 2009-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a song on his mix tape Sam did not expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do doo be-do-do

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/6222.html?thread=144462#t144462) at the Take a Sad Song and Make it Better fest . Prompt from sloth over on Dreamwidth.
> 
> You may want to [watch this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lgcQUQZBtE) first.

They're about halfway between Boise City and Kerrick, not in any particular hurry with a hunt finished behind them. There's another hunt ahead of them, though, and Dean wants to get to it, so the day's been mostly the long unrolling of the highway, fast food eaten in the Impala. Because Dean's done most of the driving, it's been mostly Dean's music.

Sam's leg muscles threaten to spasm from sitting for so long and he stretches as best he can, twisting in his seat.

"You should let me drive," Sam says.

"I'm good, Sammy." Dean's tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in time with _Smiling Like a Killer,_ and he doesn't look that tired, if you look at him quick, or if you don't know him.

But Sam can see the strain, the way Dean clenches his jaw so he won't yawn, the way he blinks and rolls his neck as if he's aching.

They'd been up all night in a graveyard. The smell of damp earth and decay still lingers in Sam's nostrils. Sam got a few hours sleep before they stopped for lunch but Dean hasn't napped.

"You know, eight cups of coffee doesn't count as sleep."

"No one's claiming it does."

The sun's bright and hot outside, highway shimmering with heat ripples ahead of them. There's nothing much to see, the road meeting the horizon as if the world drops off. Sam's going to go stark raving nuts if they don't take a side route or stop to stretch their legs.

Or if he doesn't get to drive so he can pick the music.

He dozes through _Ram it Down_ , which isn't easy. Opens his eyes to glance over at Dean, and his eyes are steady on the road, head nodding with the music a little as if he wants to outright head bang but isn't in the mood just yet.

Sam wonders if he should suggest they stop and eat, but they only did that an hour and a half ago. His brother seems to be in one of his zones; Sam wonders if this is Dean's way of recharging, maybe to him this is like a nap, although Dean's going to have to sleep, he'll have to, even if Sam has to knock him on the head to get him to do it.

As Sam drifts in and out, the mix tape reaches _Shout at the Devil_. Then the music stops. There's a long hiss of silence as if Dean couldn't decide what to put next.

Then another song starts up. Sam opens his eyes and sits up as Dean fumbles for the stop button.

"What the..." Sam hits play again.

Dean smacks his hand aside and hits stop again.

"Dude," Sam says, and hits the play button again and keeps his hand there so Dean can't do a damn thing about this and continue to drive. "Is there a _muppet_ song on your favorite mix tape?"

"No," Dean says, eyes fixed on the road.

"Yeah, it is. Holy shit." Sam starts laughing.

"Forget it, Sam."

"I used to love that song when I was a kid. You remember--"

"Yeah, I remember."

Then Sam gets it. The mix isn't something Dean had before Sam left for Stanford, he's pretty sure.

He hits rewind, and play.

"Mahna Mahna," Sam says, and glances sideways at Dean, who stays silent. "Mahna Mahna."

"Do doo be-do-do," Dean sings, very low, barely even mouthing the words like he's so disgusted he's even doing this, and Sam knows he'll deny it later and then exact some terrible revenge.

"Mahna Mahna." Sam has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Do do-do do."

"Mahna Mahna!"

Dean takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the road but does the chorus this time with feeling, before he starts singing along with the improv, making his voice all deep and rusty like Jim Henson's. Sam slouches in his seat with his lips pressed tight together, feeling like he can barely even _breathe_ enough to do the higher-pitched chorus, but he manages it.

The music stops and the hissing silence comes through the speakers again.

"You know," Sam says, when he can speak with his voice steady. "We should really stop and rest soon."

In the quiet, Dean still has his eyes on the road. "Yeah." His fingers slide over the grips of the steering wheel, and then he's smiling.


End file.
